


Bad Reputation

by bellatemple



Category: Haven (TV)
Genre: Gen, Magic Made Them Do It, Multi, Not porn, sex trouble
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-09
Updated: 2019-08-09
Packaged: 2020-08-13 08:15:37
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20171056
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bellatemple/pseuds/bellatemple
Summary: Set mid-season 4. When a trouble shuts down three of Haven's bars, Audrey's the only one who can get in and check on the people trapped inside.





	Bad Reputation

**Author's Note:**

> The magic of the digital age is that I can mainline five seasons of a nearly 10 year old Syfy series and fall down a month-long k-hole of obsession. I have, like, 30k of weird Duke fic written now, so I really hope someone's still paying attention. . . .

Duke's head is throbbing like someone's trying to blow up a balloon in his skull. He can feel his heartbeat in his teeth. He feels stretched thin, literally; his hands have long since gone numb in the cuffs, but his shoulders, upper arms, and elbows are all screaming. It hurts to breathe, in his chest and in his stomach, and the weight of Marty slumped over his hips and thighs isn't the only thing keeping him from shifting into a more comfortable position. 

He can see Rebecca and Tracy from here, but can't tell if they're breathing. Neither of them are troubled. They don't deserve to go out like this. 

No one deserves to go out like this. 

The floor is disgusting, alternately slick and sticky, but Duke presses his cheek into anyway, straining to look past his own arm towards the door to the Gull. It's still shut tight, glass behind the sheers pitch black as it has been since he announced last call what could be hours or maybe days ago, but he thinks he can hear something now, someone approaching. His skin itches and tightens, his hips somehow finding the strength left to twitch. He'd be salivating, if he had any water left to spare. 

He'd be crying, too. 

A line of bright, painful light appears between the doors. Duke hears someone whimper, but he can't tear his eyes from the light long enough to see who. A figure blocks the light, _moves_, and suddenly Duke's straining against the cuffs again, his hands having apparently shifted just enough to find one of the splashes of drying blood. This is all that's left of the rush: rattling chains and a breathless, animal keening. Even the Crocker curse is exhausted. 

Only. Part of him still hasn't gotten the memo. 

Get out, Duke thinks at the figure stepping into the room. Get out now. While you still can. We're. We're all. 

_Fucked._

All that comes out is another breathless gurgle, his voice done in by who knew how many groans, how much shouting. How many dicks. The door snaps shut behind the figure, taking with it the searing light, and she goes from silhouette to fully visible as she steps out of the after-image. 

Duke whines, jerking against the cuffs again. 

Audrey.

*

The Scupper's a bloody mess. The Rust Bucket, a horror show. Ambulances are standing by at the one, coroner's van at the other, waiting for the trouble to be defused so they can finally get in and clean up the messes.

Audrey's been dreading the Gull since the first calls came into the station last night. 

All three bars suddenly shut their doors last night shortly after midnight, their windows blacked out, not a sound coming from within despite at least ten people, staff and customers, being trapped inside each. Audrey and Nathan were called to the Scupper first and Audrey, as the only one with an immunity that let her walk right in, wasted too many precious hours talking down the brawling drunks and trying to find out whose trouble was responsible before she reported in to Nathan and heard the others had been hit too. As much as she wanted to rush over and find Duke, she was terrified of what she might find — and the Rust Bucket was closer. There were too many injuries at the Scupper for her not to try to be as efficient as possible. If anyone bled out at the Rust Bucket because she was too busy driving back and forth across town, she'd never forgive herself. 

It didn't matter. Audrey made her way into the Rust Bucket as the early morning sun was just breaching the horizon, and walked back out only ten minutes later. 

Every person in there is dead. And has been for hours. 

McHugh, one of Dwight's friends and the one to report the Rust Bucket to the station, stood in the lot, wringing his hands. Audrey never saw such a big man deflate so completely as when she caught his eye and slowly shook her head. 

And now they're at the Gull, and Audrey stands in front of the door, unable to bring herself to push it open. Duke's definitely in there, Jennifer confirms. So's Rafferty and Tracy Garrick, along with at least half a dozen others, some of whom she knows, most she doesn't. If what she finds inside is anything like what happened at the Rust Bucket. . . .

"They aren't the same," Nathan says. His body is lined with the same worry Audrey feels pulsing through her. "Scupper was a bar brawl. The Rust Bucket —"

"It's reputation," Audrey says, sure in that unexplainable way she always is about these things. "Whatever's inside, it's based on that. On an extreme version of their worst Yelp reviews." 

"That's — that could be god, right?" Jennifer asks. "The Gull's a happy place. Maybe they're having a party." 

"Party 'til you drop," Nathan says. Jennifer squeaks unhappily. 

"Whatever it is," Audrey says, swallowing. "I can't help it from out here." She looks at Nathan. "Find the troubled person. _Fix this._" 

Nathan nods. Jennifer grabs Audrey's arm. "Keep him safe." 

Audrey pats Jennifer's hand and turns the knob. She shoots one last look at Nathan, soaking in the hope and anxiety in his eyes, then slips inside. 

It definitely isn't a party. It's much, _much_ too quiet to be a party. There's a moan from somewhere, breathy and muffled, so at least if she's looking at a massacre, there's a survivor. Audrey's eyes finally adjust to the dim and she sucks in a breath. 

Naked people. There are naked people _everywhere_. 

Audrey moves toward a couple tumbled together under a nearby table, one foot crunching on broken glass (a vodka bottle, by the look and lack-of-smell of it), the other sticking faintly to the floor. She doesn't recognize either person, though she does recognize the position, and hopes they both at least had fun with it before they — passed out. Thank god. They're both still breathing, deep and even, and while both have sustained cuts from the glass, she doesn't see any active bleeders. She leaves them for now to continue her triage. 

The moan comes again. This time she recognizes it. 

"Duke?" 

She follows the sound of heavier breathing past Tracy and Rafferty (and she didn't know either of them swung that way, and really hopes they at least did before last night) to the other side of the bar. She finds Duke, stretched out flat at the bottom of a very naked puppy pile. 

"Oh Duke." 

His eyes are open, though glassy and unfocused enough that she can't be sure if he's aware of her. He lets out that odd moan again, all diaphragm and throat, his teeth clamped down on his lower lip. Audrey reaches for his cheek to try to get his attention and his eyes snap to hers before she can even touch him. They flicker, brown to silver and back again, and she glances around, noting the amount of blood splashed across the others in the pile. Depending on how many of them are troubled, Duke could be getting triggered every time he twitches. 

It's probably the reason he's still conscious. If you could call the state he's in consciousness. 

Duke breathes in shallow sips, his eyes still locked on Audrey, than manages to hold one breath for a second or two before releasing it with a shudder. Always so careful, Audrey thinks. Always in control. 

"Duke." Her hand finally finds his cheek, and he shuts his eyes and leans into the touch like a cat. Or like Nathan, after a particularly Haven-y day. "Duke." 

"Are they dead?" he asks, barely above a whisper. 

"I don't think so," she says. "Not here." She hasn't checked on everyone else yet. Can't bring herself to move away from him. Some triage. 

Duke swallows, adam's apple bobbing. "Where?" 

"Rusty Bucket. Injuries at the Scupper, too." 

Duke sighs. "Fuck." 

Audrey smiles a little at the pun. "Yeah." 

Duke squirms, eyes flashing again. "Fuck. _Fuck._" His face screws up in pain, head rocking back. Audrey holds on, and suddenly her thumb is in his mouth, his tongue massaging her cuticle. Audrey yanks her hand back and Duke whines, long and low, jerking his arms with a familiar rattle. Audrey follows the line of his arms up and sees his wrists locked in police-issue cuffs (Rafferty's presumably), secured to the foot rail at the base of the bar. 

"Oh Duke." 

She can see it so clearly now: Duke realizing the danger, even under the influence of a hedonistic trouble, and locking himself down as best he can before his own trouble can hurt anyone else. She hopes he didn't do too much damage before the cuffs went on. He'll be feeling bad enough as it is when this is finally over. 

"We're going to fix this," she promises him, though there's nothing in his eyes anymore but naked, agoned desire. "Nathan's working on it. You're all going to be okay." 

She stands, prompting more desperate keening from Duke, and grabs a bottle of water and a straw from the bar. She sits down in a relatively clear space by his head and considers unlocking the cuffs. 

"Don't," he says. She looks down to see him lucid again. Resigned. "Not safe yet." 

"Duke, you can barely move. We've got to get water in you without you choking." 

"Not safe yet." 

Audrey nods, eyes closing for a moment. Then she gently lifts his head, just enough to get her leg under him, providing an awkward pillow. Duke gasps like she's got her hands on his cock instead of his head and shivers. Audrey presses the straw to his lip, watching him take it in with as much wanton enthusiasm as he did her thumb. After a few sips, he pulls away again. 

"Help the others." 

Audrey wants to stroke his hair and kiss his forehead for that, but it'll only rile him up again. She slides her leg out from under him, replacing it with her rolled up jacket, and goes to finish her triage. A few people are showing signs of waking, so she gives them water as well. The others are going to have to wait for EMTs and IV bags so she can be sure no one accidentally drowns. She checks on Duke one more time, finding him recovered sufficiently to buck against the man sprawled over his legs when he sees her, and decides it's time to check in with the outside world. There's no cell service inside the trouble; she has to slip back out the door. 

Jennifer is waiting, amped up to almost vibrating. Nathan's gone. Audrey has her phone out and is dialing before she even finishes consciously processing his absence. 

"Is he okay?" Jennifer asks. "Is he — is it horrible?" 

"He'll be alright," Audrey tells her, then has no idea what else to say. Jennifer and Duke's relationship is still fragile and new. She doesn't know what hearing "it was an orgy, he probably fucked and was fucked by at least five people" would do to it, but she suspects it wouldn't be good. 

"Parker," Nathan says, voice stern in a way that means furious but trying not to show it. "We found her." 

"Who is it?" 

"Madison Bancroft." Audrey frowns, not recognizing the name, and he goes on: "She's twelve." 

Audrey feels bile rising in her throat. 

"She and her friends have some _interesting_ ideas about the local bars. And about Duke in particular." 

Audrey presses her hand to her mouth. "Oh god." 

"Exact words were 'fucks anything that moves.'"

Audrey closes her eyes, swallowing thickly. She can hear Duke whining again in her head, see him trying to thrust even against the weight of the man passed out on top of him. 

"Audrey," Nathan says. "Is Duke — okay?" 

"I think," Audrey says. Her head is spinning too fast to pin down a full thought. "For now. So long — so long as. No one moves." 

Nathan's silent for a long moment. Audrey wishes she could see his face. 

"Nathan?" 

"I'll work on talking Madison down. You —" 

"I'll stay here," Audrey says. "Nathan, I have to go back in and check on him." 

"Be careful." 

It's okay, she thinks. He's chained down. He can't hurt anyone but himself. "Fix Madison and you won't have to worry." 

"Yeah." 

Audrey thinks _twelve_. She thinks _bars_ and _fights_ and _orgies_. "Nathan." 

"Yeah?" 

"Pretty sure it's a puberty thing." 

Nathan hisses. Audrey's just glad he doesn't say "fuck".

*

No one dies in the Gull due to Madison's trouble.

Eight people need stitches. Two of them, including Duke, in sensitive places. All of them need multiple IVs to rehydrate and at least a day or two of bed rest before they can even think of doing any strenuous activity of any sort. Jennifer flutters around anxiously as Audrey and Nathan bundle Duke into bed on the Rouge, clearly uncomfortable with what's happened, and just as clearly trying not to show it. 

Duke puts on a good show, but Audrey sees how he avoids looking her in the eye. She uses a quiet moment as Jennifer goes to get food from the kitchen and Nathan makes sure the route to the bathroom is clear to lean in and finally give Duke that kiss on his forehead. "You handled it as best you could," she says. "None of this was your fault." 

Duke huffs, his shoulder shaking, and after several worried seconds Audrey realizes he's laughing. 

"I just fucked six people unconscious," he says, voice still rough and creaking. "I'm a _god_." 

Audrey whacks him in the shoulder. "Just be glad Wade wasn't there last night." 

By the expression on Duke's face, that possibility hadn't occurred. "You're evil," he tells her. 

She grins, backing off as Jennifer comes back in, carrying a steaming bowl of oatmeal. Duke reaches for her as she sets it down on the nightstand, pulling her in with a gentleness and care that never ceases to amaze Audrey. She hopes the two of them can survive this. They bring out the best in each other. 

Audrey slips out the door and into Nathan's arms, letting him pull her out into the evening and home to his bed. The day has wrung her out, and she's more than happy to curl up against him and let the heat of him soothe away all her aches. 

"Parker, he says, just before she falls asleep. "When you were twelve, did _you_ fantasize about orgies?" 

Audrey smiles. "No," she says, and feels him relax. 

"But Lexie sure did."


End file.
